


Family Found

by LMX



Series: Avengers ShifterAU [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Gen, Pack Family, Shapeshifting, Team as Family, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1565045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMX/pseuds/LMX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing the battle for his position as alpha to his mother's avian-shifter flight, Tony is saved by a strange pack of strays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Found

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will learn not to trawl Avengerkink when I'm supposed to be writing other things. http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/18271.html?thread=43269215#t43269215

It had happened so quickly - the crash, his parents' deaths. There was no time to talk, no time to say goodbye, no formal handing over of power. It might have triggered a riot in another group, especially a flight - avian shifters, like their bird counterparts, were less social than most shifter groups - but Maria Stark's legacy was lasting. They trusted her, and trusted the faith that she had in her son's power and leadership, despite his fathers eternal disappointment.

Really, Tony was just surprised he hadn't fucked it up yet.

He'd been lucky that his Corvus form had been strong enough to keep hold of the position; not against any of the flight who knew his mother well, but against the new challengers who'd been children when she'd passed, who felt they were owed the recognition, the position, the leadership. Who felt Tony wasn't worthy of the position of alpha bird to their flight.

It wasn't new, the dance. Wings buffeted behind, beak sharp, making as imposing a figure as he can. He could do this in the suit, and it wouldn't even be a battle, but this right now was a struggle. Obidiah's son wasn't smart, but he was big and strong and Tony wasn't a teenager anymore. With his once trusted advisor crowing his son on, the feeling of betrayal hit almost as hard as the claws to his already damaged chest.

-

He woke later, much later, to soft brown eyes and curls of greying hair. He'd shifted form, possibly with his last conscious thought, hoping to trigger the quickened healing of activated shifter cells. He'd seen horrific injuries disappear to scars in a shift, but he also knew that shouldn't have been enough to save him.

The soft brown eyes smiled, with a gentle "Hey there." Tony considered moving, considered sitting up, but was restrained by a heavy hand and a flash of foreshadowed pain. "Wait," his new friend said. "You're still healing, you were pretty badly torn up when we found you."

His tongue was heavy and lazy in his mouth, but he managed; "Who're you?"

"A friend," he answered, but quirked a smile at Tony's noise of dissent. "Just a beta in a pack of strays, no one important. No one to worry about."

Strays in his flight's territory was bad news, even if this one looked pretty unassuming. Strays brought trouble, no matter how hard they tried to fit in, no matter how much the councils encouraged groups to accept them.

But... the thought struck hard... he was cast out of his pack, a fallen alpha. He only had two choices now, go it alone or find a group of strays to take him in.

Before he had time to think or panic or cry for what he'd lost, lethargy dragged him down.

-

The next time he woke, he was more alert, and the flood of scents in the room assailed him. The avian sense of smell had never been that strong, but still better than a norm on any given day. And shifters had such distinctive scents, so easy to identify.

There was a dog, a cat and someone who almost smelled of flight, except wasn't one of his. There were only two voices, but accompanied by the sound of fur brushing a surface nearby.

He felt himself tense, surrounded as he was, and the tension put a pulling almost-pain in his chest. The talking stopped abruptly.

Tony forced himself to open his eyes, preparing for a quick shift and possibly a painful flight out of here. There had been years when he hadn't been able to shift at all, with the arc reactor sitting hard and heavy in his chest, and even once it was gone the healing muscle and bone had made flight agonising for months. He was not looking forward to revisiting the feeling.

There was a massive dog, grinning a doggy smile at him from on top of the chest of drawers beside his bed. His tail's rhythmic wagging had him tapping a pattern against the wall with every swing, and the aimless movement more than anything made Tony suspect that it was a Canis dog, not a shifter. A red-haired woman was sitting in the chair, and Tony had no problem identifying her as a feline-shifter, elegant and demure with her hands across her folded knees. The origin of the flight-smell was the dark skinned man leant against the wall beside the door, his sharp gaze and easy posture giving away his nature as a bird of prey. At Tony's glance he moved further into the room, and Tony considered tensing until he realised that he was moving to leave the path to the door unguarded.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, his sharp eyes assessing Tony from head to foot. "We can get Bruce in here if the pain..."

"I'm fine," Tony interrupted. "No more drugs."

"Sure, man," he conceded, backing down.

"You were pretty torn up," the cat said, leaning back in her chair. "Dominance fight?"

Tony shot the dog a look, the distinctive shifter-smell was always overwhelmed in animal form, and he was still trying to find other signs of shifter - but couldn't find any threat in that gormless grin. "I guess I'm a stray now, like you."

"You could always go back to your flight as a beta," the cat said blandly.

For a moment it was like a dark pit swallowed Tony's heart. "I don't think I was supposed to survive that," he managed eventually, touching one finger to the bandage that covered his chest and letting the pain wash over him. "You guys got an opening for a crow like me?"

"We've accepted worse," the cat snorted, glancing the way of the dog and making Tony reassess his original conclusion. The gormless mutt smile stayed though, tail still consistently tapping against the wall.

"I'm Natasha," the cat offered her hand. "That's Sam, this is Hawkeye. Your doctor is called Bruce." She buried her hand in the dog's ruff and he scrambled down off the furniture. He dove for the door and nearly knocked over the doctor as he came back in. He huffed a laugh but didn't comment, and Tony settled on pet, not shifter.

"Okay," the doctor said, "Spectators out. Steve's just come back in, go catch him up."

The room cleared quickly, and Tony watched them go with a vague sense of confusion. "Your scent doesn't make sense to me," he told the doctor once the room was empty.

"Do you feel fit to sit up, or will you need help?" the doctor - Bruce - asked, ignoring his question.

"You don't have an animal smell, but you have a shifter-smell. Why is that? Is it a lizard thing? I've always wondered about reptiles, because they don't have real smells like warm-bloods, you know?"

Bruce just stared for a beat and then repeated; "Sitting?"

Tony offered his hands, feeling his chest tighten at the position, reminding him of years living with the arc reactor pressed hard and immovable in his sternum. Bruce took hold of his elbow, wrapping his other arm around Tony's back as he moved him with easy strength to sit back against the headboard. The pain was bursting in waves, making his breath hitch and stutter, and Bruce let him catch his breath before moving away.

His bandages were gently removed and the wounds beneath - each one expertly stitched and adding to the mess of scars that had once held the arc reactor - were gently cleaned before being rebandaged.

"You really saved my life," Tony offered when Bruce started rebandaging.

"You were sensible enough to shift, that's what saved your life. Me finding you was just lucky."

"So it was you that found me?" Tony pressed, still trying to work out why a stray - a doctor, who knew what genus - would have been near enough to a site of a challenge to find him.

Bruce seemed determined not to answer any of Tony's questions, and replied with; "Tomorrow we'll walk down to the park and see if we can get you in the air. A second shift will probably get you close to good as new."

"So long as you're not cleaning me up for your bird-of-prey to use for target practise," Tony snarked, only half serious. That kind of attack was rare, but these were strays, no matter how hard that was to keep in him mind with the level of care he was receiving, and he really didn't know what they were capable of.

"Sam's alright," Bruce muttered, concentrating. "You're safe with him."

"Yeah, well, my best friend's a bald eagle... so..."

"I'll make sure Sam knows," Bruce nodded dutifully. "Do you need me to contact..."

"No," Tony interrupted sharply.

Bruce's eyes narrowed, but he didn't try to convince him of anything. "I'm going to find you some food. You'll need protein before your shift tomorrow."

"Bruce, what are you?"

Bruce left without answering, and Tony tried to work up some interest in the room around him - obviously someone's bedroom he had taken over, the corner of a shirt poking out of one of the drawers and a couple of notepads stacked on the bedside table with some pens in a cup. There was a wheeled box full of medical supplies which Bruce had left tucked in next to the bed, and a stray sock half-hidden in the corner. The narrow wardrobe had scratched-off sticker marks down one side, whether because the owner had lost interest in whatever had been on them or because the wardrobe had been reclaimed. Looking at the piece of cardboard replacing one of the feet, he'd guess the latter. He wondered whose room he was in. Whether they minded that some stranger from another flight was taking up their space.

-

A new face appeared not long after Bruce had left with a tray loaded with some kind of stew, a plate of thick cut bread and a steaming cup. It smelled like heaven, and hid whatever signals he might have gotten off the newcomer. He was built, and had an easy smile for Tony as he helped him settle the tray over his lap and sat back in the visitor chair.

Tony was half way through his stew before his newest visitor spoke up.

"I'm Steve Rogers. I'm the alpha here," he paused, then added, "Not that I get much respect for it."

Tony bristled a little at the too-casual declaration of dominance, but he wasn't in any state to fight or even really posture right now, and this wasn't even his territory to fight on anymore. It wasn't like he wanted to be alpha of this stray pack of mixed-genus shifters, but he'd been alpha himself until not long ago and he was too damned used to the formalities of it. He'd never considered that strays might not play to all the fancy rules.

After a couple more spoons of stew, Tony realised he hadn't actually introduced himself to anyone here, despite their care. He thrust his hand out, with a terse; "Tony. Tony Stark."

"We know," Steve admitted, shaking his hand with a seriously strong grip. "Even if we hadn't recognised you, you've been on the news. Your company's in uproar, and Ms. Potts and Colonel Rhodes are moving for foul play."

"Pepper..." Tony sighed. Rhodey had a flight of his own in the Air Force, but Pepper was a norm, her only link to the flight and her position in the company were both through Tony.

"Is that Ms. Potts?" Steve asked, his tone gentle. "She'll be alright, you know. Norms get good rights these days."

"'These days'?" Tony snorted. "Alright grandpa." Steve coloured delightfully, just too easy. It took a minute for the dissipating smell of the food to give Tony a chance to pick up on Steve's scent, but it finally reached him, making his nose wrinkle.

"What *are* you and Bruce?"

Steve gave him a long look, as if thinking about not answering. "Our pack - I guess you would call us a flight... We're made up of shifters who don't fit in anywhere else. Who couldn't find anyone else to take us. Bruce and I are artificial - man-made shifters. We don't have a genus, we were born norms."

Tony's mind ground to a halt, near enough dropping his spoon back into the bowl. "It's not... it's not possible. They've been doing research for decades," His father had been doing research, he knew - he'd seen the files - but he wasn't going to mention that. "They haven't made it work since Captain America. How do you..."

Steve shook his head, "It doesn't always work. It didn't work for Bruce the way it did for me. They did something to Natasha and Bucky and it was different for them too."

Natasha had been the cat, and clearly cat to his nose, nothing of the odd scent that Bruce and Steve shared. "And the others? Were you all experimented on?"

"No, the rest of us are just outcasts. Sam left his military flight when his partner was killed, but he couldn't find a civilian flight that worked for him so he fell in with us. Hawkeye's a deaf dog who grew up with a circus flight, kid thinks he's more bird than most avian shifters. Thor and Loki come by from time to time and don't think it's strange that they have multiple forms, some we would call mythological... and then there's Fury and Hill who only turn up when they want to, and who use us as a dumping ground for really messed up people who just need to know what pack feels like for a while."

"Sounds like a hard work flight... or pack, I guess." It sounded exhausting. Every flight had the one or two who needed a little extra time, a little extra attention to get by with everyone else, but they had a whole flight full of people willing to share the load. This was a whole flight of trouble cases...

"That's all you've got to say? Artificials? Mythological animals?" Steve seemed bemused, but somehow like Tony had passed some kind of test. Maybe he was supposed to be condemning artificial shifters, or strays or something. He'd never been good with social cues, and most of the time it seemed to serve him more than hinder.

"I've got nothing to offer you, if I stay," Tony said into the expectant silence. "All my power was wrapped up with my flight... If I'm out of the picture, the flight's new alpha can take over without too much opposition."

Steve's eyes narrowed. "And you're just going to give up your company? Leave Ms. Potts to seek other employment. Become a stray. Just like that."

"I was alpha. The board will defer to the alpha of their flight. That's Stane." The words burned on his tongue, and his chest started to hurt again. He pulled the cup closer and grimaced at the tea inside before taking a sip. If nothing else it would replace one bitter taste with another.

"And you haven't thought about challenging to separate the company? Take it back under your name?"

Tony had been very pointedly not thinking about anything at all, and Steve's pressing wasn't helping. "What are you looking to get out of this, 'Steve'? If I win back the company, your group of strays doesn't have the right to anything, even if you did save my life."

Steve blanched, and stood. "That isn't..." His lips thinned and he glared for a beat. "I just hate to see someone lose everything like you have." He looked so offended that Tony actually considered that he might not have any ulterior motives for a moment.

"I can't challenge for the company. Stane near enough killed me the first time."

Steve crossed his arms, jaw tensing. "Animal politics can't be used to control businesses or shift the power centre of a business owned by an individual in the group. Even the alpha."

"You sound like you're quoting from Wikipedia," Tony snorted in amusement. He wasn't going to think about how many of the board members would turn him down if he made a move to separate the company from the flight. How many of them would think back to their oh-so-lucrative weapons trade, that Tony had decommissioned without a second thought, and be wholeheartedly with Stane. Even if he made a legal move, the board could wipe him out with the backing of the flight.

The other man was blushing again, shaking his head. "I was trained by an old-fashioned pack," he replied, "I'm still catching up."

"Military, right? Like Sam? It's usually the military trying to turn norms into something more dangerous."

Steve's gaze went distant and slid away from Tony, and he felt briefly guilty for bringing up something that was obviously traumatic. "Army. I was in the army." Steve hesitated and turned to face Tony fully. "Your father..." he started, but Tony's stomach fully turned at that, and he interrupted before Steve could get any more words out.

"I'm going to get some rest," he said, pushing the tray away. "Bruce wants me to shift again tomorrow."

Steve gave what sounded like a poorly stifled sigh, but nodded and collected up Tony's tray before he headed for the door. "Think about what I said," he added, half way out of the door. "You inherited the flight, but the company belongs to you too. They aren't one and the same."

-

Tony was wobbly-kneed, but not in too much pain as he headed out of the bedroom the next morning and picked a direction at random. The halls were stark and bare, an affront to his decadent tastes, and the bathroom when he found it was an unflattering shade of mint green. Everything looked empty, but clean. The way hospitals and hotels did. He thought about the tens of thousands of people across the world who claimed membership to his flight, the hundreds of social houses thriving with avians of all ages in either form. Pictures on the walls, collections of different bathroom products cluttering up the corners of the bath and sink, people wherever you looked.

This was a ghost town in comparison.

As he passed a window he looked out onto a row of big town houses, the type built for large families or satellite groups. He couldn't imagine a flight small enough to only need this much space to be contained in their entirety.

He headed down when he found a staircase, passing through a lounge with hodge-podge sofas and chairs, all of which looked like they could be converted into beds. In the next room there was a dining table that looked large enough to seat twenty at a push.

There was one guy sat at the table with a bowl of cereal - another new face, and Tony went through the rambling list of names Steve had dropped before the guy smiled broadly at him, and he knew exactly who it was, finally settling one of the questions that had been lingering.

"Morning Hawkeye," he greeted, and the guy nodded agreeably before pushing a box of Lucky Charms and a jug of milk down the table towards him. "Umm... bowls?" he asked, and was pointed towards the kitchen.

The kitchen held another, smaller table, with Steve reading the broadsheet at one end of it. He looked up as soon as Tony started hunting through the cupboards at random. "Can I..." he started, but was interrupted by Tony's "Ah ha!" at finding a cupboard rammed full of mis-matched crockery.

Bruce had joined Hawkeye at the table - and that couldn't be his real name, could it? It was the code name one of those vigilantes went by, the one with the arrows - when Tony wandered back through, a steaming cup on the table in front of the doctor and both his hands wrapped firmly around it, as if he were cold.

"Did you want me to get you a bowl?" Tony offered, relieved when Bruce shook his head. His burst of energy, which had gotten him this far, was wearing thin, and he nearly collapsed into his seat, rubbing gingerly at the bandages across his chest.

It wasn't exactly his breakfast of choice, and he was going to pay with a sugar-crash later, but he poured himself a bowl of sugar and artificial colourings anyway, since it had been offered. Hawkeye was playing some game on his phone, but he couldn't hide how he was intermittently looking up to scent the air. Tony caught his gaze and he grinned.

"I missing having birds in my... pack." He shook his head as he said 'pack', as if even when saying it, it felt like the wrong word. His voice was strongly accented, and Tony found himself wondering how poor his hearing was, and whether it affected his life in animal-form. His flight had always been in favour of spending social time together in bird form, and it wasn't like you could lipread beaks or muzzles. Assuming he did lipread, of course.

"Steve said you grew up in a flight - with the circus?" Tony knew his tone was disbelieving, maybe it showed in his expression.

Still, Clint was nodding with an enthusiastic, broad grin. "Steve thinks I'm..." he went still, frowning down into his cereal, and then grinned again. "Reckless!" he declared, and Tony was thrown by the apparent shift in the conversation.

"Oh?"

Clint waved his hand dismissively. "I like to fly. He worries."

"To fly?" Tony asked, startled, but Hawkeye's attention was already somewhere else, as close to nose-in-the-air as he could get in human form.

"Bucky!" he declared, scrambling away from the table, narrowly avoiding tipping the rest of his milk over the table.

Bruce looked up from his paper and met Tony's curious gaze.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard Clint say," he observed. "Sam says he's more comfortable around avians, but I hadn't realised quite how much."

Tony tried to look out of the door, startled when a low, aggressive growl made it back to them. "Is Bucky..."

"Bucky's complicated, Tony," Bruce said, catching hold of Tony's arm as he made to head out into the corridor when the growling didn't stop. "He's alright."

"Steve said he's artificial - like you and him." Tony grimaced at the expression Bruce gave that.

"Steve and I aren't alike," he said flatly. "What they did to him is unique. They were less successful with the rest of us. Or maybe we're just not as worthy. Just don't approach Bucky without one of us. He's not been here long, and artificials aren't particularly stable, aside from Steve. Bucky is more easily triggered than most."

"You seem pretty stable."

Bruce's laughter carried on for a while.

-

Bruce had plied Tony with some clean clothes to replace the ragged T-shirt and sweatpants he'd been recuperating in, but didn't have to say much to get him downstairs waiting to go out. It was like being a fledgling again, the promise of a trip to the park to stretch his wings, and Tony tried not to let the guilt pull him down when he realised how happy he was to be without responsibility for the first time in the years since his parents had passed.

Sam was waiting in the hall, and he stood from his casual lean against the bannister as the others appeared. "Bruce asked me to come along, play air support," he said, with a grin. "You happy with that?"

"My best friend is a bald eagle," Tony repeated his favourite words of warning, watching Sam's lips twitch in amusement.

"I'm terrified," he replied flatly, a hint of laughter in his tone. "I'm just gonna keep a track of you, make sure you're not overdoing it. Consider me backup."

Tony gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but couldn't keep any kind of suspicion in the face of Sam's friendly smile. By the time they reached the big open space, Tony was exchanging stories and history with the easy going falcon, unsubtly poking around his inability to settle into a new flight and the time he'd spent in war zones. The shift was a slow one, not painful but not easy as the cells activated and the bandages fell away. He let Bruce examine him carefully before being allowed to follow Sam into the sky, playing chase and tag with one of the most terrifying silhouettes to ever shadow the sky.

He rode back to the townhouse on Sam's shoulder, breathing easily but exhausted, Bruce walking slowly beside them. Hawkeye was dog-shape again and sitting on the porch shoulder-to-shoulder with a three legged wolf who looked entirely put out by his tail-wagging over-enthusiastic company.

Tony's cawing laughter at his displeasure got him a sullen, dirty look and probably-Bucky headed back into the house with a disgusted snort. Hawkeye waited to trail Bruce and Sam back into the house, nudging Bruce towards the kitchen when they started towards the stairs.

Tony was in flight the moment he heard the voices, scrambling through the confined space to skitter to a stop on the table, in front of Pepper, Happy and Rhodey. He did a flapping, stamping, celebratory dance before moving to meet Pepper's outstretched hands. Happy settled a little in his seat in his presence, and while he was sad that the pigeon had been uncomfortable in this menagerie of a stray house, the sight of him posturing as if Tony was still his alpha was warming to every inch of him.

-

Tony startled awake at the sound of multiple feet stampeding down a flight of stairs and Rhodey's huge wingspan flaring as he took to the air. He adjusted his position on the perch, and looked up in time to see Captain America rush by the doorway in full costume, followed by Bruce dressed in not much and... well that was Hawkeye dressed in an awful lot of purple, a quiver over his back and a bow in his hands. At least that made sense of his name.

He turned back to Happy on the perch beside him and was met with wide-eyed wonderment as the pigeon fluffed up in surprise. The front door slammed open and the draught ruffled through Tony's feathers. The door slammed shut again, and a moment later Pepper appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning over the bannister to look down at the perch; "Tony - are you staying with the AVENGERS?"

"How was I supposed to recognise them without their uniforms?" Tony asked later, sitting in front of a bowl of Lucky Charms and gesturing at the TV, where Captain America, Hulk, Falcon, Hawkeye and Black Widow were battling aggressive tiny robots. He couldn't see him, but Tony was sure Rhodey was somewhere high up and out of sight above the action. He couldn't be seen to be working with the Avengers, but he was definitely there.

"Hawkeye didn't even bother to give you his cover identity's name," Pepper pointed out blandly.

"Man, if you can't recognise Steve Rogers on sight..." Happy started, shaking his head.

"I'm not a soldier," Tony objected. "He's a soldier's hero, and the Avengers are vigilantes. These things don't interest me."

"What are the Avengers doing packed into a tiny town house in New York?" Pepper asked, taking in her surroundings as if in a whole new light. Tony knew she'd been offered a spare bed for the night, when their talking had run too late to get them home, and they couldn't decide what Tony was going to do next.

"Saving the world, mostly."

Tony tore his gaze away from the TV to find a face he hadn't met yet, but a clue in the form of a gleaming metal prosthetic arm. "Bucky? You're not allowed out to play fetch with the doombots?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed, and he did a slow visual sweep of the rooms he could see. "Not yet," he answered, without giving Tony more of his attention.

"Is that a..." Tony stuttered to a stop, eyes still on the screen. "Holy shit." They watched as Hawkeye plummeted a dozen floors, looking relaxed and at ease as Falcon grabbed his arm and near enough threw him onto the nearest balcony.

"Surrounded by fucking birds," Bucky muttered, apparently to himself. "They're here because they aren't very good at holding down paying jobs, between them."

"I'm guessing world saving masked-superhero work doesn't pay?" Tony said, his tone dry.

Bucky looked away again, and Tony recognised the repetitive scan of the rooms he could see for what it was, a hazard assessment. "The pack doesn't have a back-up fund - there aren't enough of us working to have medical cover, insurance..."

"You don't have pack medical?" Pepper demanded, sounding horrified. Tony reminded himself that the only pack she'd ever really had the chance to interact with was his own flight, and he was really hot on that sort of thing. It was part of the reason his pack had gotten so big and stayed so healthy - physically and economically. The legislature laid down to look out for strays was probably worse than for norms, because the government held them as capable but not willing to contribute to society. Despite huge quantities of proof to the contrary.

"We're registered strays," Bucky said, dismissively. "We don't get the perks, the handouts."

"But... the house?"

"The pack has lived here longer than I've been with them. Steve owns the house, inherited it from... someone he fought with back in the war." Bucky's gaze flitted past Tony and then returned to his obsessive scanning of the rooms. Tony wondered how long he'd have his attention before he gave into the need to do a physical check of the building.

His actual words hit a beat later. "Wait, woah woah woah... You're telling me that Captain America..." Tony pointed at the screen absently. "That Captain America is still THE Captain America? As in the original I-punched-Hitler Captain America?"

Bucky gave an absent nod, and made an aborted half-step out towards the hall. "He's made it clear that if the pack ever needs it, he'll remorgage or sell the house to make sure we have medical. We've been lucky, with Bruce and some friends. We've been lucky so far."

Tony indicated Bucky's arm. "You don't look like you've been lucky." Bucky's face went hard, and the metal fist curled at his side in an impressive show of dexterity. There was obviously more to the prosthetic than a cool look.

"This is older than this pack," Bucky replied eventually.

"You haven't been here for long, but you've known Steve..."

"Since before he grew into his paws," Bucky replied with a distant grin.

"You're... You're..." Tony glanced between the others, seeing Happy mouth 'Sargent Barnes' with a look of awestruck adoration, and recognising the name even though he wouldn't have known it himself. "How? How did the two of you..." Tony shook his head. "I've seen pictures, of Steve as a Norm. I knew there was an experimental procedure - no one said he was artificial..."

"He was the sickliest, weediest norm you've ever seen," Bucky said, with the hint of a grin around his mouth. He glanced apologetically at Pepper. "Every single one of the stereotypes that no one believes in anymore. My... pack..." Bucky's eyes slid away, settled on the TV, but Tony was sure he wasn't watching it. "They used to tease me for spending time with him, but we were runts together. He was never a pet."

"What did they try to make him?"

Bucky's eyes narrowed and he turned his attention fully on Tony. "I thought you'd know all about that? How do you not know..."

Tony shook his head. "Steve hasn't told me anything, other than that he's artificial. That most of you are, in different ways."

"But... Howard Stark - that's your dad, right?"

Tony felt himself go cold and still. "Why?"

"He was one of the scientists. The engineering side, in America. Vitarays... His name was all over the papers after Steve started to get noticed. No one said they were trying to make him a shifter, though. Only way to hide that it wasn't a complete success."

"I don't... What did they try to make him?" Tony repeated, swallowing down the horror.

"Erskine - the lead scientist - he was still working off this idea that norms have a shifter gene, it's just turned off. He thought that you could activate a norm, to be the shifter they always were inside. Or that you could take a shifter and make them something... more. Give them the healing and the energy and the senses that everyone gets when they shift, but all the time, in both forms."

"That's what they did to you and Natasha?"

Bucky's expression shuttered, and he turned away from the kitchen, "Stay away from the windows," he muttered, and started a thorough sweep of the house.

-

Steve was alone in the kitchen, looking smaller and more like a person out of his costume. Less like an icon.

Tony steeled himself and took the seat across from him, letting his hands clench on the table top and feeling like all this not-doing was starting to get to him. It had been nearly a week since he'd last been in his workshop. He couldn't say he'd get anything useful done, though. Not after sitting here across from the one man he'd always blamed his wreck of a home life on.

He cleared his throat, and Steve gave him his attention politely. It was forced, though. Even Tony could see that.

"My father was lone when he met my mother," he started; thinking Howard Stark, your friend. "It wasn't really anything we talked about, but there were a couple of people who thought he married into the flight for power and opportunity. He always treated her right, but she was his alpha and I don't think he ever really wanted..."

"Ask me, Tony," Steve broke in, his tone sharp. "I can hear it coming, just ask."

"You were his alpha, during the war." It wasn't a question, so Steve stayed silent and let Tony continue. "He got caught up in whatever they were doing back then, and... God, he *made* you, or helped anyway. What ARE you, that you could come out of that experiment alpha."

"The SSR weren't a real pack, when I joined them." Steve pressed his hands flat against the table, as if to avoid clenching them. "Mostly strays, people who'd left packs back home, broken people. The rest of us... we were soldiers, and no one had the time to make good pack dynamics before we went into battle back then. I didn't mean to... do whatever I did to them. I shouldn't have been able to. I was a norm with juiced up genetics, I shouldn't have been able to make a functional pack out of all those people."

"But they followed you."

"Some of them hated me for it. The ones who'd always been lone, or people whose link to packs back home I'd broken. Superiors who shouldn't have had to ask me for anything. We had people from every country - our side and theirs. Anyone I came in contact with who wasn't..." Steve drifted for a minute, but his eyes snapped back to Tony's. "People stopped interacting with me. The SSR tried to keep me tucked away so I couldn't damage anything else. Bucky..."

"You saved him, from the ones who were torturing him. It's in the history books."

"They weren't torturing, they were experimenting. Not that we knew it... We didn't notice anything, didn't find out for... decades. But he'd loved his pack back in Brooklyn, just this huge ever-changing group of orphan lupes he'd grown up with, he belonged there. I... I broke that."

"Ever think that whatever they were doing to him might've done the damage before you got him out of there?"

"By the time I went into the ice, I had a pack of nearly five hundred. The biggest military-based pack anyone had ever heard of. After I... disappeared... Peggy took over the military side, the Howling Commandoes split off, the SSR finished up the war and then disbanded. Five hundred people without a pack in seconds and so many of them just... gave up. They... the history books get a lot of stuff wrong, but the numbers... they can't fake those numbers. Military packs need structure, need support after the fighting's done, that's why they're formed. So many people we failed."

"And my dad..." Tony started, his voice broken in an unfamiliar way.

"He got home and he made you," Steve said, with a distant smile. "He made you, Tony, and he turned his ideas into a company that's sustained and employed your flight for decades now. You are one of the few success stories I woke up to."

Tony was shaking his head, feeling the way the movement was jerky and panicked and scrambling to his feet. He had words, so many words in his head, trying to fit what he'd just learned into his life view. He wanted to deny his position as success story - Howard had definitely never seen him that way - he wanted to blame Steve for breaking his dad so that he couldn't accept his alpha even though she was his wife, he wanted to rail against the unfairness of his father never knowing that Steve would be found, and he wanted to tell Steve that none of this would have happened if the scientists hadn't stuck their nose into business that they had no right.

Instead he fled, going back to the busy lounge where everyone's words could hide the fact that he wasn't interested in speaking and he could hide in plain sight.

Ringing in his ears was his own guilt - his flight had only just lost their alpha, their flight-mother, and he was just walking away, leaving his flight to Stane's instability. How dare he?

-

The news was airing the usual oxymoronic praise-hate for the successful vigilantes who had saved the city again, and Tony came out of his own head for the first time that day with the seed of an idea. "Pepper... the AVENGERS don't have a pack structure," he said, pulling her towards him and settling her in the nearest chair. Steve looked up sharply at him, and his expression drew everyone else's attention, but Tony was totally focused on his thoughts and he was going to need all of Pepper's creativity and common sense to pull this off.

"I heard, Tony," Pepper agreed, frowning at his expression. "But I don't see what we can..." she hesitated, then looked back at Tony, getting there before anyone else like usual. "Oh, Tony, no..."

"Our pack works fine," Steve bristled. "Just because we're strays... People had smaller packs when I was a kid, and everyone knew everyone else and it was easier and safer."

Tony shrugged at him, "Sure, it worked in the Great Depression. This is an entirely different millennium, Steve. Our whole economy works on large packs and pack-supported communities these days."

"So you're suggesting we join your flight?" Natasha asked flatly. "Your alpha might have something to say about that."

Tony shook his head. "I'm suggesting we go and claim back *my* company, and see if any of my staff have considered a smaller flight. We can strike off separately, and we won't even have to take the support out from underneath the old flight."

"Your company is the economic platform your mother's flight uses to support its community," Sam pointed out. "Your alpha won't be happy if you try to take that from under him. Or even split it with him."

"He tried to kill me," Tony retorted. "I'm not inclined to care what Stane thinks.

There was a round of glances exchanged. "We can't argue with that," Steve said, easily. "What's the plan?"


End file.
